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Found 19 results

  1. October 26 - 27th, 2019 Marama, Cook Islands The suggestion of a Stormer get-together had been an off-the-cuff remark by Davian in a meeting about how to market Nova Solutions as a corporation to work for. Ideas were bandied around and finally Davian laughed and threw out, "Well, it's October. We could throw a Halloween Stormers party." He should have known better. Ryan should have stopped him - teleported him out of the room or to another continent before the words escaped his lips. But he didn't and Deezy heard them and now Davian was making invitations and arrangements after convincing his father to let him use the private island they owned in the Cook Islands. Deezy and Ryan were responsible for getting the physical invites out, but Nova Solutions also made a press release (using Layton Industries media arm for now) inviting "all Stormers, regardless of nationality" to the Nova Solutions Halloween Storm Bash on October 26th and 27th. The island was in three parts, with the largest speck of land hosting an amazing stretch of beach with the sprawling beach house nestled just under the canopy of palm trees towards the center of the island. Cabana were set up along the beach along with a large tent home to a massive buffet. Everything was festooned in Halloween - spiders, skeletons, witches, zombies, and ghosts peaking out from every corner; candy apples, mummied sausages, and smoking punch bowls with witch's brew were tucked in with dozens of other Halloween'd gourmet foods. Inside the house, bowls of candy were scattered around, cobwebs dripped over the ornate surfaces and the servants were dressed like dancers from Michael Jackson's Thriller. Davian was dressed in sandals, a simple Grecian toga with gold braiding, and a laurel crown around his head; he looked every inch the young godling he was honestly raised to be. We've got real gods, now, he though ruefully to himself and chuckled. No more pretend. As the first guests began arriving through Ryan's portals, he effortlessly took up the duties of host, greeting and making people feel at ease while also making a mental list of just who all actually did decide to show up. "Welcome, everyone! Happy Halloween!"
  2. Time: 8:48 PM, September 19th, 2019 Sebastion Even on a Saturday, the town of Shelby, Montana was small enough that there was little to do once the sun set. Most businesses closed, most families were home watching tv after dinner, young kids tucked in bed so they'd not be cranky through early church services the next morning. Sebastian and a half-dozen of his friends were exercising their teenage privilege to ignore social conventions and were taking up space on the stairs at the Exxon shopping strip on the edge of town, the closest Shelby got to an outdoor hangout spot. A storm has rolled in on the town in only minutes - not an unknown phenomenon, but the clouds looked angry and lightning chased through them like frenzied sprites. "Uh, guys?" Jeremiah Cross, one of the running backs for the JV team, was staring at the sky. He pointed to what looked like a silver shooting star against the deep purples and blacks of the clouds. Several people gasped as the realized what it was, Annalise stating in horror, "It's a plane. On fire." Lightning flashed brightly in their eyes and the plane wobbled down in it's descent. A little quicker on the uptake, Dennis started down the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, "It's too big! It's gonna crash near here." It was getting larger and very fast. Everyone scattered down the stairs and into the parking lot. Another lightning flash arced along the body of the plane, reaching out in ball of little tendrils - landing on the roof of the building, the roof of the pumps, and down to the ground of the parking lot. The air around them filled with static and power as the plane passed close over the strip mall, trailing molten debris as it went. A few seconds later the boom of impact only a few hundred feet away inside the circle of a highway off-ramp, knocking everyone to their feet. Everyone except Sebastian, who felt the push against him but simply pushed back with an unyielding strength he'd never known before. He felt powerful - amazing. Like he could do anything in this moment. Another small boom echoed from the direction of the plane and the smell of burnt metal and jet fuel spread across the area. Jael and Zac They were in fly-over country, and true to form, they were flying over it. Ritzy hotels and even private home rentals just didn't have the same security as being thousands of feet up in the air in a privately-owned jet. Other than having to pop her ears several times, the ride had been mostly uneventful: Sezja was employee Zac again, this time to take out the legs (and warehouses) of a cousin that thought he could set up a side operation outside of family approval or cut. The first was annoying, the second was treasonous. This was the polite warning to shape up do right by his kin. The second warning would be far more direct and leave nothing for Ulian to do ever again. Sezja believed in second chances, but not thirds. Jael had spent the flight fleecing the wallets of Igor and Anton, which seemed to fair to her since they were being paid to look like Sezja's guards while Jael was the one actually doing that. She glanced towards the cockpit when the pilot's voice crackled over the speakers. "Мисс Буторин, мы идем в шторм. Мы не можем идти вокруг, и будет турбулентность. Каждый должен пристегнуть ремни безопасности." Everyone sighed and Sezja rolled her eyes. Jael gave her a pointed look and the incredibly fashionably dressed woman pulled her seatbelt into place while giving Jael a look that translated perfectly into "Alright, you overprotective wolf." Their employer following the captain's instructions meant everyone else did, too. Thunder rolled around them and lightning flashed in the darkness outside. Then flashed again. And again. Brighter and closer each time. "Оставайтесь на линии!" the captains voice called over the speakers. Then the plane swerved, dipping down and hard to the right. Lightning flashed again, still bright but not brighter. The drinks slid and crashed onto the plush carpet of the luxury aircraft and Anton grunted as his seat-belt dug harshly into his side. Igor looked like a dog run through a centrifuge, trying to figure out what was going while also needing all his attention not to add lunch and stomach acids to the alcohol staining the white carpet. Jael and Zac felt the strike that set the right wing on fire just a few milliseconds before it actually hit. Jael's vision had blurred as her eyes tracked out the window and she saw a dozen different bolts of lightening: some were faint and missed the wing entirely, others struck the engine itself or arc into the cabin and her mind screamed NO!. In the end, the strike that Zac saw hit the tip of the wing and arced like a fairy dancer over the plane before dissipating. Mere seconds later, another bolt hit along the other wing and Jael's vision swam again, but the plane held. The nose dipped down more sharply in a left turn this time as the pilot looked to bring them under this impossible storm and find somewhere to make an emergency landing. Catching hell from Pakhan Butorin was better than dying in the sky - or surviving when Butorin's daughter didn't. Lightning found it's way to the plane again, but this time it was the tail. Jael's vision didn't distort and the plane gave a great shudder as the lightning, finding it's mark, hit over and over again. The back of the plane was slagging and the light from above and behind them took on an orange tinge instead of the blue-white of lightning. The pilot tried to course-correct again, but the plane was responding sluggishly at best. The nose pulled up slightly, but not enough. They weren't in free fall, but they were falling. The ground rushed up as the pilot kept pulling and the nose moved a bit more, but not enough. When metal met earth, everything went dark for those inside.
  3. Hey guys! This is the OOC. Feel free to kibitz!
  4. October 5th, 2019 "Nant Ddu?" Kyria asked over the headset as she looked at the brochure and at the map on the back, pronouncing the name of the place to rhyme with 'aunt do'. Steve was likewise going over his briefing package, which included the same colorful brochure advertising the getaway spot and it's facilities. "Close." Colonel Hatcher called back. "Two d's together in Welsh is pronounced as 'th', and the 'a' sound is a bit flatter on the first word, rhymes with 'pant'." The reason they were speaking loudly, even over headsets, was due to to the fact they were sitting in the belly of a huge twin-rotored Chinook as it thundered its way across the countryside. Further back in the compartment were two dozen members of the SAS and some large pieces of scientific-looking equipment. "Whitehall paid off the owners and the staff are getting paid leave - so we have the run of the place. The Beacons are officially an emergency zone right now - all civilians have been gently ushered away and we've got some Terries maintaining the perimeter." "It has a spa. With a pool, jacuzzi, gym... ooh, 32-carat gold body wraps!" Kyria nudged Steve. The Colonel smiled slightly as Steve shrugged. "It'll do. I mean, it's not up to the high standards I've become accustomed to." deadpanned a man who'd slept aboard tight quarters on naval warships, shared a bunkroom with twenty other snoring Marines, and on at least one occasion fallen asleep in a shallow cave in the middle of the Afghan highlands. "I'll make do, though." "Sadly, the spa services will be limited." Colonel Hatcher said dryly. "We will have use of the pool and other amenities, though. I'm fairly certain that administering gold body wraps is not a skill currently in demand in the 22nd, or indeed the Territorials." "So other than 22nd and the Terrys, who can we expect on the ground?" Steve asked as he flipped through the package. "The best minds we were able to scrape together." Hatcher acknowledged. "Leaders in the fields - medical doctors, neurologists, biochemists, along with physicists, head-shrinkers and, of course, a lot of civil servants to write reports on the reports that are being written." His tone was even drier at the last statement. "All very useful and necessary, I am sure. Kyria, just a word for you since Colour Sergeant Nord knows this already - the civvies cannot order you around. God knows they will try, but they cannot. Technically, and please understand this is a formality for your protection, you are attached under my oversight. Keep that in mind, don't lose your rag with some pompous egghead and throw him over the Fan." The Colonel smiled at her. "Just play along with any reasonable request, if you would." "I'll try." she said with an air of doubt as to whether she could, then shot him a winsome smile in return. He chuckled and sat back in his seat, and Kyria leaned against Steve's comforting bulk and studied the briefing package. The release of her hospital records combined with a PET scan at the base had revealed that Kyria's brain was, quite literally, a new one. Though she had knowledge of a lot of basic things, she had no memories, even suppressed or hidden, to provide emotional context for that knowledge. This likely explained her mercurial, tempestuous nature as well as her emotional openness. The Storm had taken a woman in a coma and turned her into a brand new woman, and though Kyria did wonder who she had been before, she was more interested in who she was going to be next. Or now. Steve appeared less changed, at least physically, so far as the tests over the last two weeks had determined. His blood work, like Kyria's, showed elevated compounds of various hormones and other elements not yet fully quantified. New cellular structures were apparent, but their purpose was unknown yet - hence the commandeering of a comfortable remote getaway spot to allow the leading minds in their fields to poke and prod the two enhanced people. An excellent physical specimen before the Storm, they hadn't really been able to test the limits of his changes in the quarantine bubble - though this morning he had celebrated freedom from the bubble by going for a long run with the Hereford base lads - and running them into the ground, maintaining a sprinting pace without slowing or tiring for the full ten mile run. Soldiers being soldiers, the PT sergeant had told him to run it again for being a smart-arse, which he did. At least by the end of the second run of the course he had worked up a healthy sweat and was breathing hard. Emotionally and mentally, he was much the same. A little sharper, perhaps. He was aware of an increase in his sensory acuity and that was roughly it. He didn't feel unstable, or any different from the stoic self he had always been. Which was a good thing - Kyria clung to that solidity over the endless days in quarantine, drawing some strength from the way he just endured, with good humor, their predicament when there were times she wanted to kick out the airlock door and scream. Though their initial physical attraction to one another had not diminished in the slightest, they had at least mastered the art of not trashing the house in their frequent liaisons. In addition, they just enjoyed each others company, moving from just the affectionate teasing and verbal sparring of their earlier days to a deeper level of appreciation. There was still a lot of the teasing and verbal sparring, mind you. It was just not the whole cloth of their relationship. There was another reason for their advanced assessment being carried out in the middle of a large mountainous national park, too. Steve's other ability, namely being able to control and harness the weather, was not something anyone wanted experimentation on whilst he was on a base near a town. That, as much as the pair's more physical gifts, needed to be assessed, and quickly. How great was his scope? How fine was his control? Was the weather a blunt instrument in his hands, or could he only harness existing conditions? And finally, perhaps most worryingly: if he used his gifts, would it upset weather patterns elsewhere or was there some built in limiter on the knock-on effect? As the Chinook started its descent, Steve glanced out of the window at the fancy-looking buildings below and the small crowd of uniformed and non-uniformed people who were gathering at the edge of the landing field. Well, he supposed, they were going to find out.
  5. Time: September 21st through 27th, 2019 No one likes being locked up. No one likes being run through chemical showers and blood tests and poking and prodding of just about every kind a person could think. Psychological evaluations, "interviews" about what happened during the Storm, background checks and invasions into every aspect of your life. No one likes it, but at least some people understand the necessity. And at least some of the soldiers and officials and pathologists running the quarantine at whatever base you'd all be flown into in the desert were as nice as they could be about it. Some of them. The base itself had been split between the sealed off zones for the "guests" and the free-range areas for everyone else. At the start, there'd just been the large workroom that had been stuffed with cots and blankets for the dozen or so people being kept there, but on the morning of the second day actual semi-private rooms were announced as having been sealed off for people to use. They were paired off and told that rooms would be opened to them by the evening. Workers in HAZMAT suits brought in tables and board games and cards for the internees to keep themselves occupied while doctors tried to figure out if their weirdness was contagious or their if their minds were just falling apart more slowly than all of the people that had turned into monsters immediately. "This is the worst," Lucia complained. "Why can't we have phones or something? At least give us movies to watch!" The last was halfheartedly bemoaned at one of the soldiers guarding the communal bubble in the main room. He just shrugged, clearly not about to leave his post to go get a movie for the young woman. Her all-black eyes rolled, which couldn't be seen, and she slumped in her chair. She looked around the room, picking someone out to go say hi to and maybe make a friend - anything was better than another round of Solitaire.
  6. October 12th, 2019 Donald leaned back on the couch, listening to the track running through his iPod. Hero, by Skillet. It seemed appropriate for these madcap past few weeks. After being released by the CDC, a limo was waiting for Donald at the door. Whisked away to the airport - a private jet taking him to Logan Airport. Mom, Grandpa and Grandma waiting for him at Logan Airport. The Wallaces managed to route away from pararazzi and journalists, but they had caught on and started appearing on the outskirts as Donald got into the limo. Isaac sniffed at them as the limo left them behind. Some people might have gone along with their family's business in the camera eye. Isaac Wallace was not one of those people. He'd had to adjust enough business is dealing with the media's response to Donald being plastered across the nation battling zombies. Free now from the issue of public propriety, Deidre Kennedy... it wouldn't be quite right to say she hugged her son like he was 6 again and scraped his knee, but neither was it quite wrong. Isaac and Maeve sought to remain far more composed in their concerns, but Donald could tell they had a profound sense of relief written all over them. Crazed Stormers did a number on Boston and the North End would be rebuilding for a long time. The University of Pennsylvania decided in light of Donald's quarantine and general fame to give him an indeterminate amount of time off. So Donald took advantage of the time to be with his family again, relax... Well, within limits. There really was no way to get around the media, and Maeve guided Donald through a basic statement to send to the press. More or less it boiled down to: "I figured protecting others from the zombies was the right thing to do. Super-powers was just a welcome surprise. No further comment." Donald had been tempted to have at least one interview but Isaac sternly advised against it. In fact, his grandfather had politely inquired into what abilities Donald had gotten, listened and while not directly saying 'start thinking about your future,' had made sure his grandson remembered the names and numbers of the family's legal staff and not jump into anything without contacting them. Donald loved Grandpa Isaac, but he came off like a buzzkill there. Well, that wasn't fair. Donald had begun starting to think about it, honestly. Being cooped up in the Wallace mansion didn't help though. So after several days, having insisted he didn't need therapy or anything like that, Donald chosen to return to college for now. Some tad of normalcy, if he could pretend. Except you can't pretend when there had been student protests at the U of PA calling for Donald and "Ski-Mask Girl's" release. And counter-protests insisting they'd been released too early. Death threat emails from the Northflow Pentecoastal Whatever because he was the Antichrist's Midwife. Everyone on campus wanting to know everything about him. Thinking they were entitled to. Donald being dropped from the basketball team - because of fairness - though he'd only joined that year because it gave him something to do. Mind you, there were perks. Donald brought girls back every night. Girls plural. When he went out, Donald could get free stuff from a ton of places and share the bounty with his buddies. But then there were moments like these when Donald wanted a break. Thankfully, Lucas and Aaron were the best bros and roommates ever, and went to bat helping keep unwanted callers at bay. Donald just felt the need of... something. Then it settled on him. Someone to talk to. Donald and Renata had traded Skype contacts before leaving, since they both were attending the same college and might want to talk later. TheAmazingRacer wrote: Hey, how's it going?
  7. Monday, October 7th, 2019 Deezy landed in Seattle with a list in her hand. The helicopter wasn't hers, of course, it was Davian's. Having a loaded friend was handy, even if Deezy was well aware she was racking up a 'bill' to be assessed not in cash but in favorable terms later. That was fine. There would be pleeeeeeenty of money to go around. That was of secondary importance to her though. Useful as a means to an end, and also a good way to fill otherwise boring moments, but not the objective by itself. The first item on her list, a trip to the world-famous Starbucks HQ for a fresh cuppa joe. It was delicious. She treated Davian to one too, seeing his free chopper ride and raising him one. Checkmate. The second item...required Davian to get a company car. She was going to just rent one, but he insisted, and for this it actually did make a difference to roll up in a sleek, blingy roadster instead of a Honda Civic. Deezy had even gotten kinda dressed up, though her navy blue suit had already gotten rumpled. She seemed to have that effect on pretty much anything she put on. Instant rumple. It was fine though, she still looked about 1000% more professional than usual. The third item on her list: the horizon. Specifically, Horizon Delivery and Transportation. Davian had thought the move was rather odd until Deezy had let him in on something...at which point he was all in. And so it was that a black and silver Lexus prowled into the Horizon D&T parking lot and pulled into the Visitor Parking place nearest the main entrance. From within emerged two figures. A tallish man in a pressed black suit, and a young woman in a navy blue blazer and skirt, with red hair in a tight ponytail and librarian glasses propped on her nose. For Ryan, it might have taken a moment to recognize her as Deezy, from Quarantine. They headed into the lobby and went to the receptionist's desk. "Hi," Deezy said cheerfully. "Is Ryan busy?"
  8. 11:48 PM Deezy The crash of lightning and thunder wasn't what woke her up - it was the sound of water shattering the glass of her bedroom window. It poured in like it had a will of its own, soaking everything. The apartment building shuddered and groaned under the assault. She heard shouts and screams as another wave battered against the steel and concrete, and that's what really woke her up. It was a wave. Lake Eerie wasn't that close and she wasn't on the first floor. Outside, she could hear the rising wail of the tornado sirens start up, warning people to get to safety. Inside, water sloshed again and she heard panicked tromping along both the inside stairwells and the emergency escape. "Keep going!" A young woman's voice rang out in panic. Another voice, a man's, called back, "There's someone in here! The glass is broken, we can't leave her here! What if the water comes again?" A loam-skinned man around her age poked his head in her broken window, clearly clinging to the window-frame. "C'mon, get up! The Lake's going nuts and we have to get to higher ground!" "The roof would've been higher!" the woman's voice snapped out in the night, only a little louder than the thunder crashing through the area. The young man rolled his eyes and slipped inside her room, clad in boxers and hastily thrown on shoes, dripping water as he made his way over in sweeping steps meant to move broken glass and wood out of the way. Over his shoulder he called out, "And trapped us up there! Prolly get us knocked off and dead from that." To Deezy, who's wits were finally catching up and realizing this wasn't some weird nightmare, he said, "Grab the sheet if you're not decent, but we've gotta go." Outside the window, Deezy could see another massive wave slamming it's way towards them.
  9. September 24, 2019 Karrie exited the New Headquarters Building and right into Brady’s arms. They kissed and Karrie leaned into him, so grateful to be able to touch him again. He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair for a long moment. Karrie inhaled his scent, the familiar mix of citrus bodywash and shampoo, along with his spicy cologne. For the space of a few heartbeats, all was right with the world. “All right, that’s enough, Brady,” Anna said firmly after a moment, putting a hand on the man’s arm. “You’re blocking a mother from her child and that is a poor idea.” “Sorry,” Brady said, stepped back so that Anna and Fred could enfold their child in a hug. Karrie leaned against her parents, feeling safe once more, even if she knew that was a lie. “You’re coming to our house,” Anna said firmly once she and her husband let Karrie go, though Fred kept his arm around Karrie’s shoulders. Tugging her jacket straight in a nervous habit Karrie had identified at five years of age, she added, “Jack and Holly are bringing the kids and we’re having dinner. Brady, you’re invited of course.” “Thank you, ma’am,” he told her with a smile. “Stop it,” Anna said, smacking him on the arm. “Just for that, you’re riding with me.” Karrie opened her mouth to protest but her father’s arm over her shoulder tightened. She stopped what she was going to say and gave Brady a little head nod instead. “That’s what you get for not calling her Anna, as she’s asked,” Karrie told her fiance with a little smile. They kept up the light chatter all the way to the cars, where Anna loaded Brady into her sporty two-seater and buzzed away. Fred and Karrie got in the town car; in the front seat, Jordan, the driver, made sure they were settled, then raised the barrier between the seats. “So, how bad, really?” Fred asked, turning in his seat to look at her more directly. “It’s not good,” Karrie replied, falling back into analyst mode. “A lot of predictability just got removed from the world stage, because anyone can create change on the world stage, if they get these powers. Dad, the things I saw people doing in quarantine are world-altering.” “I got that from the reports,” Fred replies, muscles tightening in his jaw, “but I need to know what the country does next.” Karrie folded her hands and looked her father in the eye. “We prepare by recruiting powered individuals into a response force that can deal with problems that arise. And Dad, this is a global issue now.” Fred grimaced and Karrie persisted. “I know, I know. But not liking it doesn’t make it true. Someone who could teleport can deposit a dirty bomb in any populated center. We have flyers, super-strong people, water control, and lightning powers, shadow manipulation, and that’s just among us and Britain. We have no clue what other countries have.” “At least you got the ability to stop the use of powers,” Fred said. “I can’t think of a better, more responsible person to have it.” “I wish we had a lot more people with this ability,” Karrie said softly, glancing out the window. “I can’t be everywhere, and I can’t answer all the issues our country will face.” She turned to her father. “I need to talk to some people, and I need your help. We have a lot of work to do.”
  10. In the months after the Storm event on September 19th, 2019 Once the first tallies were made in the weeks following the Storm, the world had lost roughly ten percent of its population. Losses ranged from barely-hit areas mostly dealing with odd phenomenon that caused a bit of damage and a lot of panic, to entire cities wiped away to the last person and building. The new celebrities and real life superheroes of the world, dubbed Stormers in the media, have become social focal points of both hope and cautious awe. The appearance of such people in the Storm seems fairly evenly distributed around the planet in pockets. Firm numbers have been impossible to come by, but it’s suspected that there’s somewhere between two and four thousand Stormers total. Monsters are still a problem around the world, though most have been either destroyed or herded away from population centers and pinned in by military barricades that can’t seem to kill them but can keep them in place. Terrifyingly, new monsters have appeared since the Storm - as have a post-Storm supers. The rate of both has, thankfully for a bruised and battered world, been incredibly low. In the US Congress has passed a law affirming the rights of Stormers as private citizens and putting in place governmental support systems to protect the privacy of Stormers that do not wish to be ‘outed’ on their status. There are new bills making their way through both chambers currently in support or fear of Stormers. On the side of fear there are calls to expel Stormers from the country based on their assumed monstrousness, outlaw the use of Stormer powers on American soil, or requiring Stormers to be put on a public registry for ‘public’ safety. On the side of those that support Stormers laws are being proposed that would give incentives for foreign Stormers to immigrate to the US and would set up a separate Department of Supernaturally Gifted Public Service for Stormers to serve the government under in whatever manner their gifts would benefit the country. One law is sitting before the President that would fund a public initiative to study the Stormer phenomenon by creating a national Center of Nova & Psi Radiation Study. Across the Pond, Britain has taken the turning point in history to commit fully to Brexit, negotiating a leave that still puts Northern Ireland in a legally complicated position that neither side is totally happy with - a sure sign of a good political compromise. The island nation has been busy negotiating new trade deals; the Storm and the massive damage done has thrown the world economies into chaos and Britain hopes that securing new trade deals will help ensure the flow of resources now and a stronger place on the world stage once everything settles out into the new normal. Having only a dozen Stormers, the nation hasn’t yet put any new legislation in place regarding those individuals or their supernatural abilities, though many of the Stormers have been invited to speak in Parliament on their experiences. The two most well-known Stormers, now known in the media by their leaked code names of Einherjar and Valkyrie, are two of the most loved celebrities in the nation and Britain has fully embrace a world with superheroes in it. Britain is on the leading front of actively recruiting Stormers to the country, with occasionally mostly-friendly swipes at the US for “stealing” one of their Stormers.
  11. Template Picture(s) Here Legal Name: Alias: Eruption: Allegiance/Affiliations: Appearance: Not just physical appearance, but how the character moves and dresses. Temperament: Snapshot of personality here to help others know how to describe your character in posts. Known Powers: Powers you've used in public or described to the public. History: The history that is known or easily discoverable about your character. Think of it as a Wikipedia entry. Special Knowledge: What wouldn't be in a public wiki but things that those with particular allegiances or social contacts could find out about your character. Nova Templates: Psion Templates:
  12. Late Afternoon, September 21, 2019 Steve, Karrie, and their nameless friend had been given a friendly but insistent escort to the barracks. SAS soldiers had kept the cordoned off from everyone else, much to Itty's loud annoyance. The local HPT team was already there and everyone was ushered through chemical showers, and radiations test, then split up into smaller sealed bubble rooms inside the base's gym. Doctors cycled through in HAZMAT suits taking blood samples and handing out bags with bright pink sets of PHE clothes in them. When they got to Steve, there was a snag in the procedure when needles bent rather than pierce Steve's skin. Pictures were taken. A lot of needles were broken. Some enterprising doctor finally just asked Steve if he could cut him with a scalpel. The soldier bemusedly watched the doctor strain to get the blade to pierce skin, though everyone in the room sighed in relief when a small line of blood finally welled up. They gave him a butterfly needle after that and came to check it every so often to make sure he hadn't healed it out or something equally weird. Several hours after sunrise, the other soldiers were cleared and released. Bubbles consolidated down until Steve, Karrie, and their still unnamed red-headed were together and alone. "We're running more tests and waiting for word from our main office," Terrance, the PHE lead told them matter-of-factly from the other side of the seal. "Once we hear, we'll know what to do next. Right now, there's for it but to wait. I suggest getting some sleep. Let us know if you need more blankets." That had been six hours ago. Afternoon light streamed into the gym from the windows. Lunch had come and gone and not been half enough even though it'd been a double portion for each of them. The red-head not only hadn't slept, she'd refused to even sit on the third bed. She was pacing now, looking anxious and... "I'm bored," she said with a sigh. She hung herself over Steve's shoulders. "Entertain me! Let's go fight another monster. Or play cards. Something."
  13. 8:48 PM Eva Eva held onto her companion's arm in just the way that she was supposed to, but a tremor of nervousness was still travelling up and down her spine. Rick Felman was by far the richest client she'd had so far - or at least the one that had spent the most money on her. They'd spent a week coming to terms over the evening - he'd wanted her to come with him to Mexico for an evening of socializing and networking and she was nervous about travelling out of the country with a man she'd only barely met, even for work. Especially for work. His money was good, his business checked out and he didn't have any arrests or even tabloid articles about anger issues or the other red flags she checked for when taking on a new client. So, here she was, just on the other side of the US-Mexican border in a small town called Sasabe. It seemed an odd place for an international business meeting, but once she saw the decked out private club, she understood. This was, most of all, a private and unassuming place for the meeting, where everyone there had been shipped in from somewhere just for the event and no one would think to look for such a meeting. Well, hopefully it's just business and not the start of a rich group serial killing spree or something. Despite her mental misgivings, she had to admit that the place was beautiful. The small complex of buildings looked like a converted missionary from the outside, but the insides were modern chic and sumptuous. The attendees didn't disappoint as well: they were young, beautiful, and clearly rich. She didn't recognize anyone specifically, but these weren't the circles she'd run in for years now. Rick smiled down at her, his mop of shaggy blond hair framing his face attractively. "Nervous?" Thunder rolled outside as if to punctuate his question. She opened her mouth to give a coy and clever response, but the ceiling exploded upwards instead. Plaster, glass, and wiring rained down on the two dozen in the room as lightning flashed erratically in the sky above. Eva let out a startled yelp; Rick was already pulling her to one of the tables and pushing her underneath. When she looked around she could see that everyone else was likewise taking cover, with a quickness of response and not at all the screaming one would expect from such a crowd. The assortment of small arms suddenly appearing was honestly a little more disconcerting than the explosion. "Stay here," Rick said in a firm command. "What is going on out there?" The question was snapped out, but not at her. She could see from his expression and moment of stillness that he was listening to someone. "LIARS!" The shout came from a ways above her. Eva snuck out from the table just in time to see someone - a man in a tattered suit, one shoe kicked off - floating nearly fifty feet off the ground. His face was flushed with orange-white glowing veins and his hair had transformed into living flame that licked furiously at his head. "ALL OF YOU! LIARS AND DECEIVERS! YOU MUST BE PURGED FROM THE WORLD TO MAKE IT PURE!" One of the women two tables down leaned out and called to flying man, "Grant! Stop-" Her she clawed at her throat as her words cut off, turning red and then blue. Her body slumped to the ground; a blast of something pushed her away from the table and into the far wall with a sickening crack. Gunfire rang out. Rick had disappeared. For several long, loud moments, Eva froze. She came to to the feel of metal pressed into her hands and a strong, warm hand on her shoulder. The metal was a high-powered sniper rifle and the hand was Rick's. "I need you to get around behind him," Rick was saying in a voice way too business-like for the insanity surrounding them. "He's knocking off the bullets in front of him but maybe you can kill him if he doesn't see it coming. I know you can make the shot, Eva." All of the sudden, "Rick Felman" was transparent to her. That wasn't his name. He wasn't a business man. He was trained. Someone you didn't want to meet in a dark alley and someone that knew all the right things to get you to do whatever he wanted. Everyone in the room showed that same training, that same response instead of retreat to this moment of utter chaos. "Rick" was using all that training at the moment to keep his mind on the insane emergency on hand and not have his hands all over her. He was also quite clearly terrified.
  14. 11:48 PM Evo Alpha Rho Kappa threw the best parties. The members were almost universally well-monied, well-connected, and that particularly helpful blend of bored co-ed and disaffected degenerate. The Dean wasn't going to shut down the parties when he remembered them himself and when it might affect how much their parents donate to the school. So: booze, co-eds looking for a good time and to impress the ARK boys, and pretty loose regulations on other "recreationals". Donald wasn't a member, but his lineage and trust fund meant he always got a personal invite. The music was loud and even at nearly midnight no one was winding down yet. Lightning burst against the clouds outside - it'd been a clear day, but weather? right. Thunder followed quickly after and Donald fell the faint wave of pressure that meant it had be close. That might also have been Allison Cartwright pressing up against him while dancing on the patio, though, too. Not a lot of skill or natural dexterity, but the tall girl had enthusiasm. "It's gonna rain," she said in a tipsy purr. "I can feel it. Why don't we go somewhere inside? My sorority house is just down the street." Donald opened his mouth to say something clever when laughter - loud, deep, utterly insane laughter - burst out from the ARK mansion. He glanced back into the house to see people looking around wildly and heading for exits. That is, those that weren't biting other people. Renata ARK threw the worst parties, Renata thought darkly as she walked the perimeter of the over-sized testosterone factory called a chapter house. She'd been hearing bad things for a while about the fraternity and the clear favoritism by the college only set her further on edge. The boys could get away with everything short of murder so long as it wasn't caught on tape. And given the lawyers they could call on, maybe even then. She was in camouflage tonight: a school shirt and dark pants, just enough school spirit that no one thought she was too out of place, but non-sexy enough that she'd been avoided for the easier targets of the night. A telescoping baton on her key-ring that looked like a travel pill bottle (seriously, you could find anything online) kept her nice and armed, and a solo cup of Monster and soda was keeping her awake. Picking apart who was willing drunken partners of the night and if anyone actually needed a rescue wasn't easy, but she'd been ancy in her room earlier in the night and being out and about at least helped with that. She'd felt the clouds roll in, quick and ominous and covering up the moon, but the lightning and thunder still made her start. Her head was pounding and the second flash of lighting - the one that was pink and green and orange instead of white-blue - nearly blinded her when it struck the tree only a few feet from her. It didn't even register that she hadn't heard anything with it, no crackle of charring bark, no displacement of air and energy. She rubbed her eyes and her temples. A girl screamed in the house. That snapped her head up and sent her running for the front door when the booming laughter of something inescapably evil rolled over her from inside. She rushed into the front hall in time to see one of the more bimbo-blond party-goers lean into an ARK boy and bite down on his collar bone.
  15. Casting Call! The first extra XP project of the game is going to be helping me create a fun roster of NPCs. Each NPC I accept earns 1 XP and while you can submit as many as you want, you can only earn up to 5 XP total per character from this project. So, if you're running one PC, that's 5 XP for five accepted submissions - if you're running three characters, you can earn up to 15 XP, but you can only put a max of 5 XP on any given character. This also means that if you lose a character or decide you want to run more than one, you can come back to this project and submit more NPCs to earn the bonus XP. Also, while I reserve the right to reject NPCs, if there adjustments that could be made for the NPC to be accepted, I'll note it to you when I let you know I won't accept them as-is. Here's the rules for who you can make: Submit NPCs to me in a site PM to The Story Guide account with the title format of DR: NPC Submission. Include at the top a statement of which of your PCs you want to have accrue the bonus XP. Once your NPC has been accepted, add a line to your XP log that has Casting Call! X/5 to show how much XP you've earned from this project. Political figures are fine but stand a higher chance of rejection. The higher up the political food-chain, the higher the bar on NPC acceptance. This is true for just about any organizations of power - businesses, governments, criminal groups, religions, whatever. NPCs tied to your characters are a great place to start, but realize that by submitting them to me you're throwing them in the pot for use in plots and for me to have final say on their portrayal. If it's your PCs parents and you want them to be just so, don't submit them for this Project. If you want them put down on the thread I'll be making for notable NPCs (DR: The World At Large, I'll link here when the thread exists), but want to retain primary control, send them to me on a site PM with the title of DR: PC's Name NPC - Name of NPC. These NPCs are meant to be significant. Doesn't mean you can't make The Girl Next Door, but understand that she's likely to become The Girl Next Door Who Founds A Cult Against Supers. Or The Girl Next Door Who's Superpower Is Attracting Villains. Etc. These NPCs need to be interesting. Expect NPC deaths/removals as the game progresses. I may eventually have a bonus round of NPC creation if I find myself lacking inspiration and low on NPC fodder. You are allowed to make any kind of currently available character type, and toss whatever extra dots/xp to spend on them. Like with #2 above, the more powerful, the more scrutiny the submission will have and the higher likelihood of refusal or rejection with notes on how to change it for acceptance. Have fun!
  16. 5:38 PM Ryan The storm had blown up out of nowhere and it wasn't just wind and water. Lightning lanced through the air around him, the plane shuddering as air pressure and wind currents danced in angry whorls. The instruments in the cockpit had gone out several seconds before the actual storm nearly just appeared around him - not a great help and certainly a little unnerving. He hadn't lost the engines, but the power kept flickering for no apparent reason and that was starting to raise his heart rate. Over the middle of the Pacific, a water landing wasn't really one you could walk away from, not even if you made it down to the ocean in one piece. The storm seemed to pulse again. It'd done that several times over the minute or so that he'd been fighting winds and ducking lightning clusters. His whole body ached with the pulse this time and the bright flash that followed after only made sense when he realized he could feel rushing air and a tingle along his hands and hair. The plane had been hit and the screech of metal, along with the hard drag on the controls, told him that he shouldn't worry about the cargo anymore - it was gone already. Lightning struck again, feeling decidedly personal in its attack on his plane. The cockpit thrummed with the energy and split open beneath him, the metal curling back with a sheen of blue light around it. That's not right, he thought to himself as his chair began to rip itself apart as the light moved up towards it. His hind-brain grabbed control of motor functions and unbuckled him from the falling furniture. It didn't exactly improve the situation, but at least he wasn't grabbed by the light and torn limb from limb himself. He fell, feeling the thin air rush past him and knowing he'd pass out from lack of oxygen before he'd actually hit the sea and die of anything else. A glint of white on the water caught his eye. A ship, his mind informed him while also playing a reel of the highlights of his life in expectation of adding the final frame. It took a moment to realize the speck was getting larger than it should. It'd been closer to the horizon and should have slipped over it as he fell closer to the water, but instead it was steadily resolving itself into a twin-stacked white and blue NOAA vessel. That was beneath him. He'd somehow fallen sideways. He stared at the ship, his mind caught in the weirdness of the moment. It'd stopped growing. He was still a hundred feet or so above it. He'd stopped moving. There was an honest-to-go sea monster attacking it. And he was still a hundred feet above it, hanging in mid-air. Emily The Hi'ialakai had just crossed the international date line and it'd been a pretty good day, all in all. They'd been bringing in a range of sea creatures onto the ship to chip and install the new mini-cameras they'd just gotten, then release back out into the wild (usually after a free meal for the indignity). The research would help them understand what climate change and changing fishing patterns were doing to the Pacific wildlife. They'd dropped a couple of sensor-bots too, intending to come back after a year and pick them up. Emily was in the computer lab, sending out pings in a rather bored fashion to the 'bots and noting how long it took them to ping back. Necessary grunt work to make sure they'd made it to the depth they were supposed to float along at and hadn't already gotten eaten by a whale or something. There was a betting pool already on how many of the bots would be in the area, in one piece, or what they'd be in by the time they came back for them. She had a few dollars in the "used as a play toy by a pod of dolphins" bin. It usually paid out. The storm alarms blared across the speakers, startling her almost off her chair. She rolled her eyes at her own antics and resettled herself. A storm, great. She didn't get seasick, but there were some new civilian recruits that apparently hadn't worked that out of their system before signing up for a life out on the water. Everyone suffered for it. She sent out her next ping, waiting the 12 seconds it should have taken to get back to her. There was an odd whirring sound instead and after a moment she realized it was the CPU cycling up like crazy. The program she used hadn't frozen, but it was stuck counting up the data it was receiving from the probe - it should have been about 4 bytes of data and it was already past 26 kilobytes. And climbing quickly. The computer gave out a sad whine after another few seconds and then died. Emily blinked and frowned. She tried to reboot the computer, but in the moments of silence that followed she began to hear other sounds from the ship: the sounds of ripping metal and screams. Something was terribly wrong.
  17. THIS IS IMPORTANT, PAY ATTENTION HERE If you have anything in a thread that would raise the content from a PG13 movie rating put a trigger/content warning in a spoiler at the top. Some examples: detailed intense personal violence/torture, sexual assault, gore, self-harm, the discussion of any of the already mentioned things in more than passing. Your ST is someone that has really bad triggers on child harm, specifically. Realistic violence in visual media, but that's not nearly as much of a problem in the written format. I'm not saying you can't tell those stories, but if I check over a thread and end up with panic attacks, I can end up avoiding the game or site for an unknown amount of time. Not good for the game. Or I could be fine. Mental health issues suck and are at times kinda random. If there's a spoiler warning, I can gauge my 'can deal with it meter' and either opt-out (probably tagging in Dawn or someone else to read the thread, summarize it for me, and suggest XP awards) or decide I'm up for it and read. And this allows others with trigger issues the same option as well. Tag the smut just because there are those that have no interest in reading it but are following along with your character. It's polite. Character Creation Basics Each player is allowed to have up to three PCs. PCs may be Talents, Psions, Novas, or if you really really want for some reason, a baseline human. Superiors will likely be opened up for play as the game progresses, so rules have been provided. Players are allowed three PCs at max, divided up as Low, Mid, and HIgh characters. Because of the wide desparity between templates, I'm listing out the template bumps for each individual type. All characters begin with two dots in one of their two paths since we're not doing Society Paths to begin with. Also, there expanded or altered rules for the three supers types in posts below this one. Please look them over before building your PC as the rules changes may affect the build. Baselines Low Baselines begin play with the base human template. +80 XP Mid Baselines begin play with the base human template. +150 XP High Baselines begin play with the base human template and two dots of Paths. +275 XP Note: Baseline characters can, through the course of play, become any of the three template characters. If this is intended from the start, it might be better to just build on the rules of the intended template and hold the supernatural abilities of character in reserve for the right moment in the story. However, if you intend to just play a baseline and maybe have something happen later on, build the baseline off these rules. You may bank XP for future expansion of the character, but you may not spend more XP on the baseline's eruption than would be allowed by their Low/Mid/High designation as if they were a new character. Talents If you don't take a Society Path, the Talent gets two Gifts of their choice in the starting 4 instead of just one. Low Talents Steps 5 & 6 as the template listed in the book. +45 XP Mid Talents Steps 5 & 6 as the template listed in the book. Add a Facet and two Gifts. +105 XP High Talents Steps 5 & 6 as the template listed in the book. Add two Path dots, three Facet dots, and five gifts. +190 XP Superiors Low Superiors Step 5: no extra dots in their non-Forte Attributes, only one extra Skill Trick, 3 Forte Powers, and 2 other Powers. Step 6 as normal. +25 XP Mid Superiors Step 5 & 6 as written in the book. +65 XP High Superiors Step 5 as the template in the book, add two Attribute dots, 2 more Skill Tricks, two Path dots, 5 more Forte Powers, and 5 more other Powers. Step 6 as normal. +125 XP Psions Low Psions Steps 5 & 6 as the template listed in the book. +30 XP Mid Psions Steps 5 & 6 as the template listed in the book. Add two primary Modes dots and one Mode dot in each of your of your Favored Aptitudes. +75 XP. Psi cannot exceed 4. High PsionsSteps 5 & 6 as the template listed in the book. Add two Path dots, five Primary Mode dots, three Mode dots in one Favored Aptitude and two in the other. Gain three dots of Psionic Edges. +155 XP. Psi may not exceed 5. Novas: Low Novas Step 5 as in book, but no free Edge dot. Ignore Step 6. +75 XP Quantum rating may not exceed 3. Mid Novas Step 5 as in book, but no free Edge dot. Ignore Step 6. +150 XP Quantum rating may not exceed 4. High Novas Step 5 as in book, but no free Edge dot. Ignore Step 6. Add two Path dots and two dots of Quantum. +250 XP Quantum rating may not exceed 5. These numbers actually equalize out the XP gains from various templates so all the options are running at the same XP level. Clearly not the same Tiers, but let's see how this plays out. If necessary, adjustments will be made and post will go up on if or how to change already existent characters. Advancement - XP Costs Universal Talents Superiors Path 15 Gift 5 Forte Superior Power 4 Attribute 10 Path Gift 4 Other Superior Power 3 Skill 5 Facet 10 Skill Trick 3 Psions Novas Specialty 3 Psi Trait 10 Mega-Attribute 10 Edge 3 Psi Trait 6+ 20 Mega-Edge 5 Path Edge 2 Primary Mode 5 Power Tag 10 Enhanced Edge 10 Primary Mode 6+ 10 Quantum Edge 5 Fav. Approach Change 15 Favored Mode 7 Quantum Tech 10 Favored Mode 6 15 Quantum Trait 15 Standard Mode 10 Quantum Trait 6+ 30 Inferior Mode 15 Quantum Power 10 Character Submission Send The Story Guide account your character submission as DR Character Submission: [PC Name]. Once your character is approved, create a thread with DR Character: [PC's Name] as the thread title. Post up the character sheet and the log for there character there. You can put background there, but there will also be a thread specifically for public knowledge profiles of characters. Please put your character's mechanics in your character account signature for easy access when writing. Buyer's Remorse Our characters can surprise us, and the mechanics of a new game can end up not doing what we thought they would when we build the character. For these reasons, for the first three months of play with a character, I'm giving players pretty large leeway to change their character's mechanics or alter their backstory. This still needs to be run through with me in case it snarls up stuff already in play, but most of the time it should be little more than a 'hey, I wanna switch this around' and 'Okay! Update your sheet/backstory.' Also, don't forget the rules for tweaking the character. I'll allow tweaks once between plot threads and for the showing off using the tweaks to be done either in the plot thread or in non-plot threads. XP Gains There will be a standard monthly 2 XP award for all characters that have been posted with. XP will also be awarded for completed free-range threads and an award for participants at the end of plot threads. Code of Conduct This is meant to be fun. Try to make sure everyone is actually enjoying it or try to work around personalities you find you clash with. If that's not possible because of some situation out of your control, contact me and I'll arbitrate. My arbitration is the final word on the matter. I don't want to ban people from the game, but if a pattern of disruptive behavior emerges I do reserve the right to do so. Hopefully this will be the only time it ever comes up. Feel free to suggest other rules or ask questions here. I'll edit this post to keep the Rules up to date and easy to find. General Rules Expansion Society Path Edges Path Edges with prereq's of setting specific organizations might be available depending on the background of your PC. Talk with me about how to acquire them if you're interested. Skill Specialties and Tricks You get one free Skill Trick at character creation that you can place wherever you want. When a skill hits 3, you get one free Specialty and one free Skill Trick. At dots four and five you may purchase an additional Specialty and Skill Trick. Appearance There is no more Appearance stat in the game, which is good in general but can creation some disconnects. Here's my quick-and-dirty rules as a guideline for appearance: add your regular socials together and divide by three, round up. This is your effective Appearance rating. If you have Striking, that effectively raises the phantom appearance by 1, and can flavor the look as ugly or attractive or just noticeable. Mega-App 1 is like another 5 dots of Appearance. MApp 2 is like +15, MApp 3 is +35, MApp 4 is +75, and MApp 5 is like +135 dots of more Appearance. Appearance 5, btw, is a Perfect 10 on the appearance scale. Those with App 5 and Striking have a "more perfect than perfect" appeal as they're sitting on a 12 out of a scale of 10 - and that used to be as beautiful as people could get. If you want your (or another) character's rating on that 1-10 scale, just double the number of dots of Appearance. I know this won't matter to many people, but it's a useful rule of thumb for who gets stared at first when people walk in the room. Or who gets remembered first if someone's making a report. Examples in spoiler.
  18. 3:48 AM Stevie One of the few nights in town, away from the grueling demands of SAS selection, and someone had to go ruin it. He'd been sleeping, for god's sake! Not that the men around him, the barracks building, or the storm outside cared at precisely this moment. The men, at least, were trying to help. But, what do you do for someone that keeps getting struck by lightning? Not like "several times over the course of a life" but "it's been a dozen times in the past thirty seconds and it's not stopping". Itty, so named because he was only five and a half feet tall in a group that averaged out nearly half a foot taller, grabbed his boots, put them on his hands, and shoved Stevie out of bed. He kept shoving him - through two more lightning strikes, go Itty - until the Colour Sergeant was out from under the ragged hole in the roof. Itty's face was peeling from the world's strangest sunburn and the lightning got in two more strikes before finally deciding that Stevie was well and rightly cooked and could be left alone. "Steve! Shit, someone get a defibrillator!" Men scrambled through the room and out into the halls of barracks. There was a first aid station down the hall, and Steve felt cold gel on his chest less than a minute later. That finally got his body to sync up with his mind again. "Dun...Don't do that!" He shoved Itty away from him, sparks flying between the two men and the live machine in Itty's hands. The room let out a collective gasp that immediately broke out into overlapping chatter - amazement, shouting at Steve, several prayers. One guy, a younger man that Steve was pretty sure wasn't going to make it through the full ten weeks, slid down the wall and just stared. Steve ached and every time the thunder rumbled he could feel it in his bones. He stood and stretched, rubbing sore spot on his bared chest. The thunder became regular, rhythmic, and out of sync with the ache in his boned. The barracks began to shudder with the louder rhythm; the men were looking at each other, frowning. "That feels almost like-" "Footsteps," Itty finished for the other soldier. They all poured out of the front doors of the barracks, alert and freaked out at the same time; Steve was given a larger berth in the sprint for outside. Hereford was back-lit by the angry black and purple-red clouds; lightning bursts chased through the storm, giving back as much light as the moon the clouds had blocked, but in random strobes of incandescent heat-light. Rising against that was an immense figure made of cracking ice; two blue orbs looked out from the enormous face as it reached out and put a gigantic fist through the third story of a hotel. People tumbled out, injured and terrified. A sound like glaciers cracking came from the giant - it was laughing. Karrie Busywork assignments annoyed the hell out of her. She understood that someone had to do them and that her supervisor often gave them to her when she'd be otherwise sitting at home just waiting for word that Brady was back and ok, but they still annoyed the hell out of her. She'd checked into the hotel in Hereford in the early morning, napped a few hours, and then headed to the hospital in her guise as one of the Minneford Foundation's more personable auditors. Dr. Vasilakis needed a reminder of who she was, which was exactly how it was supposed to go. Be unassuming. Be nice but not gregarious. That's how you can hold a cover for years without ever being suspected. Brady had been thrilled to get a chance to teach Karrie just a little of his side of the trade. "Jane Doe" was also exactly where she'd left her the last time she'd been in Hereford: laying on a hospital bed, a feeding tube down her throat, and a strict schedule of turning to keep her from getting bed sores. Karrie didn't know the details, but for some reason they weren't allowed to just move the woman to a more private - controlled - facility. It wasn't her job to ask. Getting "Laura's" paperwork from the hospital, so the bogus foundation would continue to pay the coma victim's bills, took up the rest of the afternoon and she busied herself with real paperwork through the evening. She'd made herself go to bed on UK time; she was going to be in Europe for a few weeks and best to get on schedule the first night. She woke up in the early morning frozen in place. Literally. Everything in her room had a sheen of hoarfrost on it and the whole building was shaking. She shivered and the ice on her shattered off, not melting but disappearing. She could hear screams from nearby, less than a handful of rooms down. The building shook again and again, like small earthquakes only a few seconds apart. A loud crash, the ripping of concrete, steel, and wood, reverberated from above her as part of her ceiling was ripped away by an enormous icy fist crashing through the space. She scrambled away as part of the bed and mini-fridge from two stories up crashed down into her space. The fist retreated and the screams got louder. Over it all she heard the icy, grating laughter of the monster that had just killed at least a dozen people. Kyria In the hazy darkness there had always been bits of sounds: a beep here, a low murmur of a voice there, the constant tinny sound of argument or racing cars or other random things. She'd never been able to focus on them and make them more than indistinct noise. She'd wanted to, but it was just so tiring. The screaming finally go her attention. It was so loud and so close and so there. She forced her eyes open for the first time in years, blinking against the dim light and the rush of fresh air over her skin. The room she was in was trashed. A hospital bed lay broken into several pieces below her; monitoring equipment had been thrashed about and littered the rest of the floor. In the doorway was a young orderly, her face frozen in fear and the screams emanating from her. Behind her, she could feel the winds from outside whipping at the broken section of the wall, cold to the point of bitter. She lighted down softly onto the floor, shivering from the open back of her hospital gown. She glanced at the other woman and said in a light, smooth voice that shouldn't have been possible from vocal chords unused for three years, "I'm cold. I need better clothes." The orderly swallowed, cutting off her own screams. "Th-there's street clothes..." She pointed shakily to one of the cabinets under the sink in the room. The red-haired woman nodded and stepped over, pulling out the set of clothes with delicate movements. The orderly blushed and turned away when she slid off the gown and dressed herself. Others were peering into the doorway now, shocked silent by the destruction of the room and the up-and-moving of their long-term patient. The storm outside flickered and flashed angrily, refusing to drop water just yet but in full thundered voice across the city. A strange regularity had entered the cacophony of the storm and it was getting louder. After she'd slipped on the pair of new tennis shoes and secured them in place, she glanced out the ruin of a wall and then back to the people still stuck in the doorway by a mix of fear, awe, and hind-brain gibbering. She quirked a smile at them and shrugged. "Guess I should go see what that is. Sorry about the-" she waved vaguely at the ruined equipment and wall. She stepped backwards out of the hole in the wall and fell upward.
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